


(when i'm home) you know i got you

by fbismoak (midwestwind)



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Emotions, Episode Tag, Episode Tag 6x14, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 06:33:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13852077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midwestwind/pseuds/fbismoak
Summary: "I just wanted to see you when I got home."(post-6.14. felicity finds herself seeking a quiet moment alone but is unsurprised when oliver finds her.)





	(when i'm home) you know i got you

**Author's Note:**

> This was gonna be something completely different but then it just turned into 2k of Felicity and Oliver actually getting to deal with the emotional fallout of things because the show doesn't want to let that happen. Felicity gets a little angry and Oliver gets a little scared and, inevitably, they make each other feel better.
> 
> Enjoy!

Felicity crosses the T in her name with a slight flourish and stares down at the red ink creating the loops and swirls of her name. She pouts a little, tilting her head and staring at the signature that makes it official. Well, mostly official. Ready to be made official once she’s submitted it to the city records.

 

The loft is silent around her, the only lights coming from the afternoon sun pouring through the large windows. She hadn’t bothered to turn anything on when she’d come in. Mostly, she’d just wanted to wallow in her own self-pity without bringing poor William down from his excitement over the unexpected break from school.

 

Not an ideal reason for it, but who doesn’t love a snow day?

 

A knock at the apartment door startles her, pulling her from her staring contest with her own name, and she spins to look towards the door. There’s a vague silhouette on the other side of the frosted glass, but even without a visual she figures she knows who it is. A smile breaks through her sad state as she pushes out of the kitchen chair to cross the room.

 

“Hey, stranger,” she greets, warming instantly at the sight of Oliver on the threshold when she pulls open the door. He’s doing that nervous thing with his hands, holding them clasped in front of his chest. His wedding band catches the sunlight behind her and she reaches for him, pulling one of his hands from the nervous tic to lace her fingers through it.

 

“I thought I might find you here,” he says warmly, tilting his head at her and she knows he’s seen right through her. She sighs, tugging on his hand gently to prompt him further into the loft-turned-business-office. Oliver follows, pushing the door gently shut behind him.

 

“Yeah, I just had to get that paperwork finished,” she explains, letting go of his hand as they reach the center of the apartment. There’s still a mess of tech across most surfaces and the scribbled out potential titles on the dry erase board. “Plus, the apartment still smells like cookies and it wasn’t really meshing well with my whole sad-slash-mad vibe, you know?”

 

When she turns back, Oliver is just watching her and she lets out another breath. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, a memory echoes the words  _ you don’t have to be funny for me _ .

 

“Are you alright?” He asks gently and she lets herself wander towards him a few steps, giving into the pull to be near him. He reaches out this time, his fingers skimming down the skin of her forearm.

 

“I’m just,” she shrugs again trying to find the word for it. She thinks of the anger low in her gut, the sadness at the rise and decline of her company, the betrayal over the past few days events. Finally, she goes with, “Disappointed.”

 

“You finished up the dissolution papers?” He asks. Felicity turns away, pulling her arm away from his touch and crossing back to the kitchen table. She grabs the stack of papers, turning to find Oliver having followed her, and holds them out for him to see. Her bright red signature stands out against the black text on white paper.

 

“Signed, dated, and ready to be filed,” she confirms. Oliver frowns, taking the papers from her. He reaches around her, sliding them back onto the table. As he straightens, his fingers wrap around her arm again, gliding down to slide his palm against hers and link their fingers.

 

“I’m sorry,” he sighs and she shrugs again. The bitterness is beginning to outweigh the sadness.

 

“Not your fault Curtis turned out to be a big ol’ hypocrite,” she bites. “I still can’t believe he would do that to John. He knew how much pain it would cause him. And then, he had the nerve to stand there and tell John and I that we don’t deserve to be worried about Rene!”

 

“Rene is in his situation because of me,” Oliver admits, earning a sharp look from her. She jabs her index finger into his chest, just over the maroon tie covering his sternum.

 

“ _ He _ is in his situation because  _ they _ picked a fight with us,” she reminds him. “And while, yeah, I feel bad, of course I do, they do not have the moral high ground here. So, please, don’t do the very you thing of carrying everyone else’s guilt as if it’s your own.”

 

Oliver nods and she knows she hasn’t fixed what he’s feeling - guilt over losing Black Siren, over being unable to save the city, over hurting Rene - but it’s an uphill battle she intends to spend however long it takes fighting.

 

She gets it, though. Under all of her anger at Curtis and Dinah and Rene, there’s a loss there. Three more people they couldn’t keep around. Three more names to add to an ever growing list of teammates who no longer are. They’re lucky they chose to walk, rather than having the choice made for them.

 

Under all of the broken trust and betrayal, they were still their friends.

 

“So, now that I know you escaped the apartment to get away from the smell of cookies,” he says a little leadingly, his free hand dipping inside of his suit jacket. “I’m guessing you don’t want these.”

 

He produces a zipped plastic bag from within his inside pocket, two brightly colored frosted cookies within. Miraculously, they look to be unsquished. Felicity whines a little reaching for the bag which he holds just out of her reach. Damn his height and her bare feet.

 

“Mean,” she accuses, pressing up onto her toes. Her fingers catch against the edge of the bag and Oliver laughs at her, the sound warm and playful in an almost surprising way for how tense he’s been lately. She bites down on her lip, wanting to preserve the moment, to bottle the sound of him carefree and happy.

 

He lowers the bag finally, once Felicity is so thoroughly distracted by the sound of her husband’s laugh that cookies would probably only disappoint. Still his breaks the seal on the bag and holds it open for her. She reaches inside, plucking out the green frosted cookie and leaving him with the red one and a teasing wink.

 

He shakes his head, but she turns, stepping away from him and crossing towards the counter. She pops the cookie in her mouth, freeing her hands to place them flat on the counter behind her and heft herself onto it. Her skirt bunches a little as she shifts to get comfortable and she tugs it down with one hand, taking a bite from the cookie and removing it from her mouth with the other.

 

“So, what do you think I should do with this place now that there’s no company to use it as an office?” She asks, looking around the open plan of the loft. She loves it, but it’s hard to deny the amount of darkness it’s housed. “Maybe I should sublet it. Ooh, I could be a landlord!”

 

“Felicity,” Oliver says, stepping up to her at the counter. He sets the plastic bag down on the counter next to her, placing his hands on her knees instead. “If you let every little bump in the road stop you, neither of us would be here right now. Whatever you decide to do next, it’s gonna be amazing.”

 

She strokes her fingers over his jaw, smiling at the attempt to reassure her. It helps, but somehow it still feels like every time she takes a step forward she ends up five back. A feeling she’s sure Oliver is familiar with at this particular moment.

 

“How did things go at City Hall today?” She asks carefully. Yesterday had been hard enough, having to admit defeat on the money Cayden had extorted from the city. It had broken her heart to watch him, immortalized now in newsreel, tell the city he had failed it.

 

She’s heard him say it before, but it kills her that he truly believes it.

 

He sighs and it’s enough of an answer as his eyes drift shut and his head dips just slightly. She drags her hand over his jaw, down his throat, to the collar of his jacket. For a moment, they just sit. Absorbing each other’s grief over lost things and broken trusts.

 

“I just wanted to see you when I got home,” Oliver admits, quietly, and Felicity wraps her fingers in his lapel, tugging gently until he’s situated between her legs.

 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” she says, just as quiet. He shakes his head, waving away the apology. 

 

His hand comes up, skimming over her left bicep and she sucks in a breath. She thinks of the new hole in her favorite cream colored peacoat, left by a bullet that should have found itself in her arm. It’s a miracle it hadn’t hit her and the shock of it - the terror, the ghost of pain pulled from her memory - hadn’t hit her until later. When she pulled the coat off and found the hole, thought of the barrel in front of her and the sharp pain of a bullet tearing through skin.

 

Oliver had found her, locked in their bedroom, cross legged on the floor. Coat clutched in shaking hands as she tried to pull herself from hazy memories and she could have sworn, in that moment, it didn’t matter if she had the chip in her spine or not, her legs wouldn’t move. Oliver had wrapped himself around her, pulled her into his lap and stroked her hair until the shaking had stopped.

 

“Hey,” she calls, breaking them both from memories better left in the past, but not forgotten all together. “I’m fine.”

 

“You might not have been,” he counters and she was wondering when they’d get here. Because she’d had her moment of weakness, of fear and pain, and Oliver had held her as she worked through it. So, when does he get his? Sometimes, she needs to remind herself that she wasn’t the only one who lived through that night.

 

“He was shooting at Thea and Quentin,” she shrugs. “I didn’t think he’d actually try to shoot me.”

 

“You hoped,” Oliver corrects, a bite to his tone she knows isn’t meant for her. She brings her hand back up to his jaw, her other still clutching the forgotten cookie, and strokes the pad of her thumb over his lower lip.

 

There’s no right answer for his fears. She holds them every night in her own chest, everytime he prioritizes the needs of the city over his own safety. It never gets easier, it never fades, but she’s learned how to let the heavy weight of her fear motivate her to be a better partner, a better hacker. It motivates her to do her job - keep Oliver and John and whoever else finds their way onto the team for however short an amount of time safe.

 

She lifts the cookie to her mouth, biting down and humming in content at the perfectly crafted frosting she and William had created. Cooking is all instinct and improvisation, two things that have always been Oliver’s skillset. But baking is chemistry and math, the ability to find the perfect ratio of baking powder to make cakes and cookies rise perfectly. The whole thing screams her name.

 

Oliver lets out a chuckle and she opens her eyes to find him watching her. He lifts his hand, tapping the corner of his mouth with his index finger, but before she can do anything about the frosting she feels there his hand is on her jaw. He angles her head just so as he ducks towards her, licking the frosting from the corner of her lip.

 

Surprised, Felicity lets out a quiet noise - almost a moan but caught in the back of her throat. She drops the cookie onto the counter and takes hold of Oliver’s jaw before he can move away, wiggling her own jaw out of his grasp to cover his mouth more firmly with her own. His tongue strokes against hers, his hands falling to her thighs and squeezing the flesh there.

 

She can’t tell which one of them tastes like frosting anymore.

 

She whines when he pulls back, leaving a lingering kiss on the corner of her mouth before pulling away fully. Her hands fall to his chest, fisting in his lapel and resisting the urge to drag him back to her. 

 

She  _ misses him _ , she realizes suddenly. Because despite a shared home and bed and bunker, there’s still so much keeping them from the intimate comfort they’re both craving. It feels like they have months, _ years _ , to catch up on. But she has to trust that there will be time for it all.

 

Oliver’s fingers find hers, lacing through them while he picks up the discarded plastic bag from the counter next to her. She sighs, picking up her own dropped cookie and letting him help her down from the counter.

 

“Let’s go home,” he suggests and she nods, fingers tightening around his.

 

They have time, she reminds herself, her own ring catching in the light as she reaches for the stack of paperwork on the table. All the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me places?  
> twitter: [@fellicityqueen](http://twitter.com/fellicityqueen)  
> tumblr: [fellicityqueen](http://fellicityqueen.tumblr.com)


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